Skulí's afmæli partí, Iceland

I've been embroiled in a vicious race war with 'Dan the hairy American' this week. In the end it turned out to be a classic case of mistaken identity (undoubtedly arising from the fact that Americans are stoopid). The race war ended without harm to either party when I explained that Australians are descendant from retarded monkeys and are generally unhygienic - not New Zealanders. The ones I really feel sorry for in these sort of situations are the Polar Bears. With the confusion cleared up, and our rivalry once again reduced to comparing the amount of hair on our faces, the weekend was free for mischief.

Skulí Skulasson, head of Hólar University, turned 50 this week. In typical Icelandic style a large party had been organised for months. After a stirfry of hot and spicy curry at my place, and possibly already one too many beers, we all boarded the bus and headed to the community hall in Hofsós about 30 minutes away. We had been warned that this affair could end up being a bit formal (probably the reason for having one too many beers before hand...) but we were all a little surprised at what eventuated. Unlike most party's, where there may be one or two speeches from close friends and the like, Icelanders really go all out. There were powerpoint presentations, skits, songs and all manner of tributes to Skulí - who is undoubtedly a great man and loved by many.

The formal proceedings, which were all in Icelandic, lasted for 4 hours

I'm dressed formally but still manage to look rough as guts

For us foreigners however, the proceedings were all a little confusing and much much too long. Luckily for us we had been considered, and there was a steady stream of 'mini' Thule's (300ml cans of Icelandic beer) and red wine (shame it was from Australia) at our disposal to ensure we were kept entertained. Not being able to understand what was being said, and for some of us what was going on (not due to language as much as inebriation) we decided to make our own fun by taking stupid photographs of each other and generally being culturally insensitive by having more fun than those people paying attention to the presentations. I would like you to meet my partners in crime, in no particular order.

Rán (Icelandic), Camille and Soizic (French)

My MSc supervisor Bjarni (Icelandic) and Dan my big bearded nemesis

Pamella (American) and Camille's boyfriend Anup (Nepalese)

Hlin 'Queen of the Valley' (German) and Rán

Anup drunken munching

Rán and Camille - probably laughing at one of my hilarious jokes

With the formalities over, and the free beers decimated, it was of course time for a little dancing. I don't know if I have danced like this since school practice for ball dances. As you can see from the amount of grey hair in the picture below - The Foxtrot and The Charleston are staple dance floor favourites. Luckily, the speeches took so long that there was only enough time for an hour or so of horrendous dancing to endure before the bus driver was impatiently leaning on the horn outside.

Dance dance dancecution

Never being one to quit easily, It was back to my place to continue the festivities - minus the dancing and the old people. Various types of Icelandic alcohol invited themselves, including an interesting mix named 'Fisherman.' I can only assume that this was the cause of my pain on Sunday when I finally came out of my coma.

The after party at mine wound up around 6am (yes, I'm flipping the bird)